


The Farmer and the Lady Have a Naughty Secret

by AC-DD (anarchycox)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Costumes, Feminization, Lambert is pretty, M/M, Sex, gala party, garden sex, jaskier is a flirt, not knowing your sex partner, role play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/AC-DD
Summary: There is a costume ball, and Jaskier is looking forward to a night of revelry, mystery, and debauchery. He didn't expect to find all of those in an unknown Witcher in a beautiful dressFor Kinktober day 6: costumes/masks
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 55
Kudos: 222
Collections: Witcher Kinktober Ring





	The Farmer and the Lady Have a Naughty Secret

Jaskier adjusted the straw hat on his head and thought his costume quite authentic. He should know what peasants looked like well enough after all the villages he had trampled through with Geralt. He had spent a good bit of money on this peasant look. Yes, he probably could have given a farmer half the money he paid for the costume, but then the rough spun linen wouldn’t be lined with silk. And really if he was going to be dancing all night, he wanted to be comfortable. The ball had intrigued him, a Topsy turvy gala for the tenth anniversary of the duke and duchess. They were well known for loving games, and throwing parties that would be spoken of until the next decade. 

Tonight Jaskier was a guest as a Viscount and not a bard. He was going to enjoy his night off so to speak. He and Geralt were supposed to meet up next month, rumblings in Toussaint, and Jaskier tended to smooth the way there. But Geralt hadn’t wanted to spend any time in Novigrad so they decided to meet then rather than travel together. Jaskier had done research, continued work on the book he was writing, sung some, and mostly reveled. And tonight would be a cap to that revelry.

He and a couple other invitees shared a carriage out to the rich estate, and he handed over his invitation with smile and a doff of his cap, the way that he had seen several farmers do. Several people were charmed. Jaskier roughed up his manners a bit, changed his voice, stripped away the rhythms it always fell into. The party was just getting going, and he could already pick out half a dozen different prospects for the night. He played some cards, and danced. Jaskier itched to pick up an instrument but stayed his hand, the music was fine, it didn’t need his touch (it desperately did, but if he started he’d be kept on stage all night and he wanted to find the perfect fuck for the night).

Jaskier plucked a glass off a tray, as well as a small bit of food, and paused. There was a dress, black and beaded, a light train that was a touch out of fashion but in the way that suggested it was on purpose for the event not a dreadful faux pas. And the waist was drawn tight. Jaskier’s fingers would rest well on that crux of pulled in wait and wide hip. The hair was auburn, waves that were stiff in the breeze. A wig, but of decent quality at that. And honestly it intrigued him even more. He put his glass down and made his way over to the woman who was looking down from the balcony to a gwent game below. 

He moved next to her and looked down. “Oh dear, monster deck vs northern realms. That will go poorly.”

“The northern realms can hold their own against monsters.” 

The voice was smooth and a bit higher than he expected to go along with that jawline. Not an affectation to sound more feminine it was the man’s natural voice, just not what Jaskier had expected when he glanced at the face.

“A monster deck is a formidable foe.”

There was a smile. “Only to some.”

“I know your eyes,” Jaskier stared at the yellow, checked the neck for a medallion but there wasn’t one. Hidden, likely for some undercover purposes though it was hard to hide those eyes. A small fascinator fell and it covered the eyes just enough to distract. “But you don’t want me to.”

“Not especially. Move along,” the man said. The dialect was northern, but half the witcher groups existed in the north - that didn’t narrow it down much.

“I know monsters well,” he said. He almost gave his name, but overheard by the wrong person and he'd be immediately thrust on the stage unable to help. And if there was a monster here it had to be stopped. “My village was ravaged by drowners, moved to the city to try to find work.” 

“A common story,” the man said and gave a nod. He was going to disappear.

“Your dress is stunning, suits you well,” was all Jaskier could think to say. It was the truth, the dress did suit him well. “You’d look wonderful in red,” Jaskier added and that stopped the man. “My lady, I know that I am but a humble farmer turned even more humble labourer, but to dance with you in my arms, nothing I have ever experienced would ever compare.” He caught the bit of an eye roll under the small veil, but still the man wasn’t moving. “Sincerely, my lady, the dress is lovely on you. And will look even more astonishing on the dance floor.”

Jaskier smiled when his arm was taken and they made their way to the dance floor. He guided the man around the floor, and something in his eased as they moved together fairly well. Though he shouldn’t be surprised that a witcher had grace about them, the one he knew was very nimble on his feet. They stayed on the dance floor for a second and a third dance, and Jaskier received a smile. “I didn’t know witchers smiled.”

“It is a rare occurrence, only under perfect skies on the dance floor with handsome and humble farmers.”

“And when they spy their quarry. Which you must have for such a grin on your face.” Jaskier started to look around, but hadn’t turned his gaze so much that he missed the fall of the smile off the witchers face, the way the tension returned to him. “Here on the dance floor?” Jaskier whispered. “Do I need to cause a distraction?”

“No,” the witcher gave him a graceful curtsy, and left the dance floor. Jaskier watched him pull a drink off a tray and head into a part of the gardens that were cordoned off not for guests, but the guard blocking the way let the witcher through. Interesting. Confusing. And Jaskier did love a puzzle.

Jaskier moved through the crowd and found his hostess. He gave a low bow. “That a woman of your grace, saw fit to invite such a lowly man as myself -” The duchess laughed and he stood.

“A humble farmer, charming, Viscount, utterly charming.” She applauded, and he smiled, kissed her cheek. “Are you enjoying the event?”

“How could I not enjoy your generosity. I swore I spied a witcher, is everything all right, you know that I have experience in these matters.”

“Yes, yes,” she waved a hand. “A problem a fortnight ago, he dealt with it, and when we offered payment, he had seen the decorating commence. Asked only for an invitation, and costume once we informed him of the nature of the fete. Has he caused trouble?”

Jaskier felt like shit, “No I just had a conversation and my first thought was for your safety. He was quite genteel.”

“Yes, a crude mouth with surprising manners otherwise. Viscount enjoy the party, the fireworks will astonish even your jaded eye.”

“I will,” he promised. Jaskier made his way to where the witcher had gone through and the guard started to move in front of him. “I wouldn’t,” Jaskier warned him. “Unless you want to deal with a witcher angry that you stopped his romantic plans for the evening.” The guard hesitated and Jaskier didn’t care, he took of a ring he was wearing. “Worth a hundred crowns,” he bribed and it was gone in the man’s pocket in a moment. Jaskier went into the garden, and it wasn’t hard to find whom he was looking for.

The witcher was sitting on a bench, the wig abandoned, the heeled shoes kicked off. He was leaning back his eyes closed. The bench was beside a small fountain, and the water made the air cooler. It felt quite nice, actually after the press of the all the bodies. Jaskier sat down next to him. “The duchess is a good woman, I am glad you were able to solve her problem.”

“Wasn’t so hard, minor infestation all told.”

“Witchers never deal in trade, only coin.” It was what Geralt said, even as he made a million trades.

“Had enough money from a big job. I wanted -” the man shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It does, because whatever it was, I ruined it for you and I’d like to make it up to you.” Jaskier looked at him. “Why did you accept this as payment?”

“Because,” was all the man said. “Fuck it was stupid.”

“Was it?” Jaskier smiled. “I’m full of stupid ideas, it is said.”

“It was a night of pretend. Not to be a witcher, not to care about life or death. Not to carry a dozen weapons. One night where I got to be pretty…I mean see pretty people, not give a fuck.” The man sneered a bit, “This was the only spare costume they had at the clothes shop, and fuck it right?”

Jaskier was realizing how much he had fucked up. He fucked up a lot in life, but it was always a special extra layer to his fuck ups with witchers. He could press, but he didn’t want to hurt. “You look pretty,” he said instead. “The dress suits you.”

“I can kill you. Who mocks a witcher?”

Jaskier picked up the witcher’s hand and kissed the back of it. “I do, frequently in fact, but this time I am quite sincere. You are gorgeous in that dress. I ruined our time before. Allow me to make it up to you.” He started to stand, a moonlight dance alone in a garden would be quite romantic he thought but before he could stand the witcher was astride his thighs the dress rucked up to the man’s hips to let him do so.

The man’s hands were in his hair, knocking the hat off his head, yanking back. Jaskier looked up at those yellow eyes, so similar and so different than Geralt’s. “Tell me I’m pretty, again.”

“You are very pretty, prettiest at the party by far,” Jaskier agreed and the last word was barely out of his mouth as the man gave him a hard kiss, his tongue pressing in. It seemed like he had found his fun for the night, and he had always wanted to fuck a witcher. He debated how he wanted to play this out, because he really wanted all that coiled strength used against him, but also, the man really wanted to be pretty that night. Jaskier put his hand in the slicked back hair, greasy and sticky from whatever was put in to hold the wig from before in place and tugged hard. “Pretty noble girl, want to be ravaged by the low farmer, does she? You’ve watched me in the fields, liked how much stronger I look than the men you dance with at your glittery parties?” There was a fire in the witcher’s eyes and a gasp in his throat. “I’m not one of your simpering noble fools though, pretty lady, and you are not in charge here.” This would decide whether Jaskier was murdered, or had the best night of his life.

“Yes, sir,” the witcher said and ducked his gaze. “You just look so different from the men I am surrounded by. Your hands are so rough.”

“Rough enough to tear that dress from you,” Jaskier agreed, and the man pouted at the thought. He chuckled. “But I won’t, when I’m done with you, you’ll go back to the party only barely mussed, people will think you were quite naughty, stealing a kiss with a farmer, never knowing just how much I stole from you.” He brought the man’s mouth to his lips, a gentle kiss, but one that he was clearly in charge of. “Pretty girl, is your cunt as pretty as your face?”

Jaskier had already been aroused by the squirming the witcher did on his lap, but the moan the man let out destroyed him, had his cock aching. “Fuck, tell me you have something better than spit.” Jaskier had mostly been planning to fuck a woman that night and hadn’t brought the necessary supplies - a mistake he swore he’d never make again. The man had a small purse around his wrist and pulled out a small vial. “Not a lot in there.”

“Enough,” the witcher promised, and Jaskier had to believe him. 

“Thank you, my sweet dove,” Jaskier said and enjoyed the almost shy smile that earned him. He nudged the man off his lap and to sitting on the bench. The skirt of the tress let him see gorgeous thighs, well muscled but leaner than Geralt, he found them very appealing. Jaskier kissed one and then the other, pulled the man a bit more forward on the bench. “Let me see your cunt, my precious pearl.” Fuck, that got him a giggle, and he hungered. The dress was pulled up more, and Jaskier couldn’t stop a growl because there was nothing under the petticoat at all. The witcher’s cock was gorgeous. “Be a good girl for me, touch yourself.”

The man gasped, “It is naughty to touch yourself there, it is all to be saved for marriage. I can’t.”

Jaskier grinned up at the man and received a wicked smile in return. This was far more fun than he had even expected that night. “Not at all, not at all. When the gods bestowed on you such beauty, they meant for it to be worshiped. Have you ever touched yourself before?”

“Only once or twice, I want to be a good lady, like I was taught, but sometimes it aches so very much.”

“Does it ache now?” Jaskier got a nod. “Sweet dove, let me help you,” he crooned, and guided the witcher’s hand around the long lean cock. “There you go,” he moved the hand so that it went up and down that length, “Does that feel good?”

“So good,” the man moaned, “Please, though your hands would feel even better, those rough worn fingers would make me shiver.”

“And they will, but in a different place.”

“I don’t? We musn’t!” The man fake protested even as he shifted the dress higher and spread his legs. “If my parents find out -”

“Aren’t they at this party?”

“No, this was my first gala unattended,” the man whispered. “My first party.”

There was an inflection in his voice, and Jaskier realized that was true. He leaned forward and sucked at the tip of the man’s cock but never sank down to meet the hand holding the length, just flicked his tongue against the slit. “Then I will make sure that you remember it forever.” He opened the vial and recognized the smell of the witcher healing potion. He coated a finger, “Sweet dove, just a little more apart.” The man spread his legs more, and one foot rested on Jaskier’s shoulder. He liked that. He dragged his finger along the skin below the man’s balls and the primal sound in the witcher’s throat, had Jaskier’s cock aching. Down more until it pressed against the man’s hole. “Dear heart, have you had touched before here?” He looked up and got an eye roll and a smirk before the face settled into shock.

“Only a healer to make sure I was healthy,” he swore earnestly. 

“Of course, it may feel odd, your sweet cunt it going to be very tight, but I promise it will feel incredible.” He got a nod, and Jaskier pressed his finger in. Fuck, the man’s body just seemed to pull him in. He arched into the press and Jaskier’s whole finger was inside him. “Fuck,” Jaskier cursed. “Little one, your body was made for me.”

“I wish it was, you are much more handsome than the men my parents want me to marry. Ruin me,” he begged. “Ruin my cunt. Please, good farmer, ruin my cunt with your fingers?”

“And my cock,” Jaskier swore. He started to move his finger in and out. “Don’t forget to stroke yourself, it will make this easier.”

“Will your cock even fit in my tight cunt?”

“It will, I’m thick, sweet dove, and your body was made to stretch around me.” Jaskier pulled out and two slick fingers pressed back in.

“Hurts,” he whimpered, “it is too much.” A glance reassured Jaskier that they were playing the game well. The witcher was rolling his hips as much as he could on the bench, and the beads on the dress sparkled in the moonlight. Jaskier pressed up against that spot inside. “What’s that?” he squealed. “Sir your fingers are doing things to me.”

Jaskier smiled. “Tell me how it feels.”

“It still hurts, but there is this pressure, it builds, makes me dizzy. I want to run away and to it at the same time. I’ve heard of orgasms, is that what it is?”

“No, you’ll know when that happens,” Jaskier added a third finger. “Your cunt is so wet for me, wants me. Do you want me little one?”

“So much, I would run away with you,” he said. His grip was tight on his cock. “You make me feel so good, and pretty.”

“Do those noble men not see your beauty? The fools.”

“They see my title and nothing more.” Again Jaskier heard the truth in that. He wanted to bundle this witcher up, protect them. Maybe he could convince the man to stay, join him and Geralt on the path. He clearly needed companionship. “May I…may I see your cock? I once saw servants making love and that man seemed huge.” The witcher bit his lip. “Let me see you, too.”

Jaskier stood and shifted his clothes so that he could pull out his cock. He stroked himself, “There, my sweet dove.”

There was a shocked gasp, “You’ll never fit in me.” There was also hunger in the man’s gaze, desperate want.

“I will, trust me little one.” Jaskier lay down on the grass, “Come my lady.”

“I don’t understand,” the witcher said even as he moved astride Jaskier’s lap. “This is not how you love is it?”

“There are many ways too engage in intimacy, and it will keep your pretty dress in the best repair,” Jaskier said. “I will hold my cock steady and you slide your cunt slowly down my length.”

The witcher moved and they both cursed as Jaskier filled him. The dress pooled around them hid what they were doing and the witcher balanced his hands on Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier’s wiped his hands off in the grass and then fitted his hands on that corseted waist that had first captured his attention. “Now dove, move up a little.” He lifted a bit with his hands, a pretense as the witcher raised himself up, “and gently down. How does it feel?”

“So full, I cannot believe you are in my cunt.”

“You were made for my cock, sweet dove,” Jaskier groaned because the witcher had a great ass and was moving at a fantastic rhythm. They moved together as if they had done this dozens of times together, though the witcher was doing a great job of being confused and overwhelmed at the experience. “Yes, fuck, my lady, ride my cock with your perfect cunt. Going to ruin you. The noble your family marries you to, you’ll be presenting it is me fucking into you every time.”

“Please, please, it is so much,” he begged, “I don’t understand this feeling.”

Jaskier moved a hand off that curved hip and pushed it under the layers of dress. The witcher’s cock was leaking, and he squeezed tightly, ran his thumb over the slit. “How is that, little one?” He smiled as the witcher began to rock at a more erratic pace. “Yes, clench that cunt around my cock, you aren’t a lady at all, you want to be my little whore don’t you? Move you into my farm, keep you open and ready to fuck me when I come in from the fields sweaty and aching. Your cunt always hungry for my cock. Wouldn’t you like that? Give up everything for me?”

“I would,” he cried. “It feels so good,” he almost wailed. “What do I do, I can’t, can’t, help me sir, please please, make my cunt feel good. I’ll give you whatever if you just help me.” 

Jaskier pulled him down for a hard kiss and the angle change was enough and the witcher groaned against his mouth, his come splattering inside his petticoats. Jaskier should pull out but the man was clenching him so hard, that an arch of his hips and Jaskier was coming as well. Their breath was both ragged and they smiled at each other, very content with the encounter. 

“My pretty lady, you were incredible.”

“Good farmer, you have shown me astonishing things that I’ll never forget,” was the reply he received. The witcher slid off his cock. “And your come is gonna be dripping down my thighs, which I think is as good a reason as any to leave the party.” 

The game was clearly over.

“It was a great fuck. What school are you?” He leaned up on his elbows and watched the man put the shoes on, the wig, adjust the dress. “Or do I not get to know that?”

There was a sharp smile. “Me? I’m a wolf, and boy did you make me howl.”

He left which meant he didn’t see the look of pure shock on Jaskier’s face. Jaskier sat in the garden stunned for a moment before he started laughing to himself. He had had the best fuck in years with one of Geralt’s brothers. He ran through what Geralt had told him over the years and he put the pieces together.

“Lambert,” he whispered. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Jaskier adjusted his clothes and went back to the party. It was dawn when he left, having fucked two more people, neither as good as the witcher, but fun enough. 

When he and Geralt met again, Geralt asked if Jaskier had done anything fun while they were apart.

“Just your brother,” he replied and the horror and confusion on Geralt’s face was the sweetest thing Jaskier had ever seen, but no matter how Geralt demanded more information, it was one tale that Jaskier kept for himself.


End file.
